I Don't Dance
by GarryxMrChairFan
Summary: It's not his style, but he doesn't care, because Roderich has him in the palm of his hand. PruAus, AU; inspired by "I Don't Dance" by Lee Brice.


_**I Don't Dance**_

GarryxMrChairFan

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><p>.<p>

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Inspired by _I Don't Dance_ by Lee Brice.

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For as large as the grand room was, Gilbert felt it was uncomfortably claustrophobic. The bodies of the guests pressed against him even as he stood along the edges of the marbled floor, and he could feel the ebb and flow of the music's rhythm in their movements as he watched them spin gracefully around, a grimace on his lips.

This really wasn't his scene — honestly, what was he even doing here? Upscale balls, with prissy champagne flutes and light giggles that were about as fake as the diamonds hanging from their necks, had never been something Gilbert had ever wanted anything to do with. He was the country boy, the one these people came to with car troubles needing to be looked at and the guy counted on to bring the beer to the loud, brash dorm parties to liven things up and then leave without a hitch.

_Why am I even here? _

Huffing a sigh, Gilbert moved through the crowd, trying hard not to bump into the guests as he made his way to the spread on the table set up for their consumption. The flutes filled with golden liquid were set in a pyramid, delicately stacked up quite high, and he snorted. Always with the flare, these sophisticated pansies. Even the food looked more stuck up than him, despite being barely enough to fit in his palm as he sneered at it.

"Has the caviar done something to personally offend you, Gilbert?"

Gilbert snorted again as he turned from the platters of food to send a look to the brunet that had suddenly appeared by his side, his expression one of calm amusement.

Roderich was dressed up in his finery as always, a pristine white shirt beneath the deep purple waistcoat that matched his eyes, trimmed in gold. His jacket flared down to his knees, white trimmed in the same color purple as his waistcoat, and his boots came to his knees. Gilbert thought he looked like something out of the Victorian age, but he couldn't deny the Austrian made his breath catch in awe at his natural grace.

_Oh._

His grimace turned up into a small smirk. "No more than the rest of this excuse for 'party food'," he snickered. "Seriously, the entire table's barely a meal! I can't see how you aren't just starving, little master."

Roderich rolled his eyes, his glasses slipping down his slender nose as he shook his head. Gilbert watched his curl sway with the motion. "It's not supposed to be a meal, Gilbert. This isn't a dinner party."

Gilbert grunted in agreement. "You got that right, Priss. It's not even a _party._"

"Just because there isn't any beer and the music doesn't entice the guests to practically grope each other doesn't mean it's not a party, Gil." Roderich's voice was just as amused as his expression as Gilbert watched him fight a laugh, and he couldn't help the twitch of his lips into a soft smile.

_That's why I'm here._

Gilbert scoffed. "Like you would know a good party, _Prinzessin_. I bet you can't even dance anything other than the waltz."

Roderich cocked an eyebrow. "At least I know how to waltz, _dummkopf__. _Unlike you, who simply throws himself around as he sees fit." His smirk was starting to do things to Gilbert's heart. His eyes lit as a thought came to him, and Gilbert was sure his heart skipped a beat that time. "Perhaps I could teach you, if you like?"

Gilbert just shrugged, looking back to the guests. "I don't dance, little master."

"Not _yet_," Roderich stated firmly, holding out a hand. "Come on, Gil. You look pitiable standing around like this, as lost as I get at Walmart."

Gilbert shuddered theatrically with a groan. "That's pretty pathetic, actually. But I think I'll pass anyway."

"Please, Gil?" Roderich's eyes were shimmering under the soft light of the chandeliers. "For me, then?"

_I'd do anything for you, little master._

Gilbert huffed another sigh, running a hand through his hair before relenting. "Fine, since you're gonna be that way."

Roderich's smile as Gilbert took his hand made his knees weak, and he just barely stumbled along as Roderich pulled him over the marbled floor, to the center of everything. Turning to him, Roderich looked at him expectantly, and he swallowed heavily as he rested an almost imperceptibly shaking hand on the Austrian's waist as he felt one slide to his shoulder, his other hand grasped tightly by Roderich's.

Roderich smiled up at him. "Now, just follow my lead and feel it in the music."

The music seemed to change on cue, the bight quick-step tempo slowing to something more serious, intimate almost as Gilbert let Roderich pull him into the steps, gliding and turning easily with the other guests as the orchestra's music filled the air. Gilbert kept his eyes on Roderich's the entire time, losing himself in the rich color behind thin lenses, feeling the heat between them as he began leading them in yet another direction.

"You're a natural, Gilbert." Roderich's murmur was soft between them as he gazed back. "I don't believe you couldn't dance."

Gilbert smirked down at him. "I said I don't dance, Priss, not that I couldn't." He chuckled. "It's not really my style, you know?"

_But I don't care. If it means getting to be close to you, I'll dance all night._

"But you do it wonderfully." Roderich twirled with him as he pulled them in a circle with the flow of the music, and Gilbert could feel the Austrian's hand tighten on his as he pulled him closer. Their chests were brushing with each movement, and Gilbert was sure Roderich could feel his pounding heart beneath his suit.

Gilbert couldn't fight the teasing grin spreading on his face. "Only for you, _Prinzessin._"

Roderich rolled his eyes at the nickname, feeling them slow to a stop as the song ended, and Gilbert and him remained close and motionless even as the next song began, simply watching each other. On impulse, Gilbert released Roderich's waist to bring his hand up to the Austrian's face, gently running his fingers through the soft chocolate locks, pulling it back just enough to caress a pale cheek blossoming with warmth.

Roderich leant his face into his palm, watching him calmly with slightly hooded eyes, a small smile on his lips. "It can officially be said that the great Gilbert Beilschmidt can actually dance," he teased playfully. "Who knew?"

_You know because you've waltzed away with my heart._

Gilbert grinned wickedly, tilting the Austrian's face up gently. He could feel Roderich's breath on his lips as he leant forward, brushing them against Roderich's cheek and over his mouth, lingering there in an almost-kiss. He could feel Roderich's smile against his own. "I'm just full of surprises, little master."

_You've got me in the palm of your hand, little master, 'cause I don't dance._

_END_


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